February Air
by brickroad16
Summary: A mission goes wrong, and Chuck and Sarah must deal with the consequences. One-shot.


Disclaimer: I don't own "Chuck" or its characters. The only thing I own is a twisted sense of whisperee-ness.

A/N: This is for the Angst Challenge from the forums (that GCG facetiously named after me, lol). Woo! If it doesn't make you feel like I stole your candy, broke your favorite Christmas present on Christmas morning, _and_ kicked your puppy, I have not done my job . . .

The song lyrics are "February Air" by Lights.

**Attention: If you'd like to vote for your favorite story in the Angst Competition, there will be a poll up on my profile starting August 25th, the last day for entries. **

* * *

_ My arms get cold  
In February air  
Please don't lose hold of me out there_

Sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair, with Chuck's consoling arm around her shoulders, Sarah can't recall the exact sequence of events, or even many of the details. For the first time in years, she's full-out crying – sobbing into Chuck's chest. The emotional deluge does nothing to clear her mind. It simply serves to make her memories more jumbled.

But they've been sitting here for over four hours, and she's certain that, fairly soon, Ellie and Devon and maybe some of the other doctors, too, are going to come and demand an explanation.

Chuck whispers nonsense to her, trying to soothe her, but the sobs come harder now, and she bunches up the front of his shirt, holding on for her life. He doesn't seem to mind that her shirt and her hands – his hands, too – are stained red with blood. All he seems to care about is that Sarah – strong, intelligent, self-sufficient Sarah Walker – is breaking down and he can only sit by and watch.

Sarah continues to weep, her breath coming in uneven gasps. Frustrated with her limited vision in the light of hindsight, she beats a fist against his chest and lets a soft, anguished cry escape her throat. He tenses but responds by holding her closer, tucking her head beneath his chin.

She strains her mind for memories.

She remembers . . .

She remembers bullets, the relentless thundering of guns and whizzing of bullets.

* * *

_Sarah runs from the warehouse with a grin on her face, reveling in the familiar feeling of adrenaline coursing through her veins. It's a feeling she knows well but has experienced all too infrequently since this L.A. assignment began. It's such a relief to experience it again that she doesn't even mind that the mission's gone off track and they didn't retrieve the info on the smugglers' shipments that they'd come for. A burst of energy hits her, and she rationalizes that they can regroup and try again the next day. _

_As she races to the parking lot and straight to Casey's Suburban, she spots the man himself coming from the opposite end of the building. He's laughing, shooting over his shoulder at the two men following him. They go down easily, and he barely has to look._

_They reach the car at the same time, but Sarah's the first to realize who's missing. _

"_Casey!" she shouts, her expression simultaneously worried and furious. "Where's Chuck? He's supposed to be with you!"_

_Casey's face falls. She takes off running before he can respond._

"_Walker! Walker, get back here! We need to think about this. You can't go in without a plan!"_

_She can hear him shout behind her, but she's flying over the pavement, the only thought in her mind to get to Chuck. She reaches the warehouse, and that's when the bullets begin to fly. _

"_Chuck!" she yells over the noise, hiding behind a stack of crates. _

He's in here with dangerous people_. The thought makes it hard to breathe, as if there's a vice around her lungs, squeezing the air out of her chest._

_He answers her with a strangled cry. She smiles in spite of the situation, her heart suddenly soaring._

He's okay.

_Then there's a _thud_, and his voice is cut off in the middle of saying her name. _

_She peers out cautiously from her hiding place, and a bullet whizzes by her shoulder. She jerks back behind the crates. _

_From the voices and the glimpses she sneaks, she estimates that there are five men guarding him. _

_Five vs. one. She's had worse._

_But that's when she sees Casey stealing through the opposite door, bent into a crouch, gun held at the ready. He looks at her, his eyes intense and focused, and holds up three fingers. She nods. _

_When he puts down his last finger, they spring from their hiding places, guns blazing. Her first shot hits one smuggler square in the chest. He falls limply to the ground. A few more shots and the remaining three are down. Her chest heaving, she runs over to Chuck. She drops her gun next to him and kneels over him, running her hands frantically over his body and through his hair. _

"_Chuck, Chuck, Chuck," she gasps. "Come on, talk to me."_

_When she feels the side of his head, her fingers come away bloody. They must have struck him to get him to shut up. Before she can dress his wound, a gun goes off. She jumps, instinctively tensing to protect her head, and turns around to see one of the men lying on the ground, bleeding from a shot to the stomach, a smoking gun in one weak hand. His head is lifted a few inches off the ground, and his gaze is directed at –_

"_Casey!" _

_She leaps up and races over to the smuggler, giving him a swift kick to the head before tearing off a portion of his shirt. Bending over Casey, she pins the shirt against the bullet hole in an effort to staunch the blood flow. Pressing down on his chest, she glances over at the unconscious Chuck. Faced with the harsh reality of keeping both her partner and the man she loves safe, she collapses onto the ground. Her face crumples, her eyes ready to spit out tears, only they don't come. They don't come because the agent in her knows she has a job to do. _

_She knows she's the only one who can save their lives._

_Even so, the image of John Casey covered in his own blood from a bullet wound to the chest and Chuck Bartowski lying unconscious with an open head injury only a few feet away will always be burned into her mind._

* * *

"Chuck? Sarah?"

She picks her head off Chuck's chest, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She tries to control her breathing, but it's still coming in ragged, choked sobs.

Ellie's standing in front of them, looking haggard in her blue scrubs.

"How is he?" Chuck asks shakily.

"He's okay," she responds with a sigh. "A little worse for the wear, but he'll live." Reaching out, she puts a hand on his chin and tilts his head to examine the ER's doctor's handiwork in stitching and bandaging his wound. "What about you? How's your head?"

He shakes her off gently. "It's fine. I'm okay."

Ellie rubs her eyes, exhausted from the surgery and frustrated at her brother's stubbornness. "Whatever," she mumbles irritably. "Just trying to help."

Chuck sighs. "Look, I'm sorry, sis. It's just, I'm pretty shaken up."

She folds her arms over her chest and stares at him. "Yeah, I guess we all are." The corner of her mouth twitches downwards. "But at least you two know what's going on."

Frowning, Sarah glances over at Chuck. "Ellie," she begins, "I'm not sure what you know, but –"

The brunette laughs humorlessly, cutting her off. "You know what I don't know, Sarah? I don't know why my brother and his girlfriend, or whatever you are to him, just brought our neighbor into the hospital with a bullet in his chest. That's what I don't know."

Sarah sniffles, using the time to regain her bearings. "I realize this is confusing for you –"

"Confusing?" she practically shouts.

"Ellie, calm down," Chuck pleads. "We can't explain things to you if you're yelling."

Ellie takes a deep breath, running a hand over her tied-back hair. When she looks back at the weary couple in the too-small waiting room chairs, her eyes are wide with incomprehension and fear. "You better start explaining."

Chuck looks over at Sarah and grabs her hand for support.

With a sad smile, she says, "I've got this one."

Ellie sits down and stares at her, her eyes cold.

Sarah swallows, gathering determination. "Ellie, I don't really work at the Weinerlicious. It's just a cover job. I'm a government agent, and so is Casey. We've been assigned to protect your brother."

Ellie's jaw drops.

"He's an intelligence asset," Sarah informs her. "We've been working with him since –"

"So none of this has been real?" Ellie interrupts, clearly distraught.

Sarah shakes her head, silently asking for clarification.

When Ellie continues, her words come out stilted. "You and Chuck, you've just been pretending this whole time so you could use him?"

Chuck looks as if he's going to protest, but Sarah stops him. "No, Ellie, it's not like that." She closes her eyes, conceding, "Well, yeah, it was like that." Seeing Ellie's murderous expression, she holds her hands up and quickly adds, "At first! Only at first."

Sarah's gaze drifts over to Chuck, and she trails off, getting lost in him.

"What exactly is going on between you then?"

Sarah squeezes Chuck's hand and looks back at his sister. "I love him," she replies simply.

Chuck's breathing quickens, but he carefully avoids Sarah's eyes.

"So, what?" asks Ellie. "You were pretend dating and now you're actually dating?"

Sarah's downcast eyes indicate her answer. She admits softly, "No."

Ellie scoffs.

"It's complicated," Sarah insists.

Scowling, Ellie rises from her chair.

Chuck grabs her arm. "Wait," he beseeches. "I know it's a lot to take in, but we're not lying to you."

She pulls away. "I don't know what to believe anymore. I need to go check on John."

"Can we see him?" Sarah inquires anxiously.

Ellie hesitates before replying, "You can see him when he wakes up, but I'm not sure when that will be."

Chuck nods, and he and Sarah somberly watch Ellie walk down the hallway, the harsh lights of the hospital illuminating her retreat.

The silence is oppressive, weighing heavily on both of them.

Chuck finally breaks it when he asks quietly, "You love me?"

She smiles shyly, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. "You had to have known."

He leans his forehead against the side of her head, fiddles with the cuff of her sleeve. "It would have been nice to hear once in a while."

Looking down the hallway and away from him, she says, "This may take a while to clear up, so we have to be patient."

Chuck lifts his head in surprise, but, not wanting to push her too fast, doesn't mention the sudden topic change. "Ye-yeah," he stammers quietly.

With another sniff, she gathers her courage. "Now that we know Casey's all right, we should probably get some rest." She stands, disengaging herself from his embrace, and rubs her red-rimmed eyes.

Frowning, he takes a deep breath and agrees, "Yeah. Yeah, we should." He stands up slowly and stretches out his aching muscles. "Come on," he says, reaching out to put an arm around her shoulder. "I'll take you home."

She sidesteps him, rubbing the back of her neck to avoid his gaze. "No," she replies nervously, "that's okay. I don't want to keep you."

He chuckles. "Don't be stupid, Sarah. Let me take you."

"No, really, Chuck," she says more forcefully. "I need some time to think. I just can't do this tonight."

He narrows his eyes. "Do what?"

She tightens her lips. "You know, endlessly dissect our relationship. I just want to sleep."

Chuck's eyes smolder, and he's not sure if it's the strain from the night's events or the tension from their relationship that forces him to say it, but his voice is cold as he says, "You know what? I'm tired of following your lead, Sarah. Yeah, I care about you. Last time I checked, that wasn't a crime."

His words are hard, accusatory.

She glances anxiously at the passing nurses. "Will you keep your voice down?" she pleads.

"Why should I?" he explodes, raising his arms for emphasis. "Give me one good reason why I should care about what you – or anyone else here – thinks! It's not as if my feelings actually matter to you."

She doesn't know whether to be shocked or livid. After a moment's speechlessness, livid wins out. "You have no right – _no right_ – to act like you're the victim in this relationship! Jesus, Chuck, what's this about?"

"What's this about?" he fumes. "It's about you never wanting to talk about us! It's about you taking every goddamned opportunity to run away from how we feel about each other! It's about you not stepping up to take responsibility! I don't want a relationship with someone who won't fight for it."

Sarah opens her mouth to respond, but stops, suddenly catching drift of underlying problem. She looks him in the eye and guesses, "We're not talking about us."

He purses his lips, biting back his scathing reply.

"No," she says calmly, "We're talking about Casey getting shot."

He averts his gaze, looking wildly around the hospital.

"Chuck, this isn't your fault," she assures him. "Things like this happen."

Nodding, he says, "No, I know. Casey's going to be okay. And I'm going to be okay. Because you saved our lives. I know that."

She shakes her head. "I was the one who dragged us into that mess in the first place."

He looks at her in surprise. "Would you have left me there?"

"Of course not!" She sighs. "But Casey was right. We needed to recover and go in with a plan, not go rushing in like maniacs."

Chuck swallows, looking as if he's debating something. "Well, next time I get captured by insane, gun-crazed smugglers, don't feel like you have to rescue me."

His last few words are barely audible as he turns around and walks away. He's halfway down the hall before she realizes he's leaving. But she's rooted to the floor, listening to the echo of his quick, even footsteps. And within a moment, the automatic doors _whoosh_ open, and she watches him step out into the chilly February air.

* * *

Sarah Walker does not leave the lights on. So when she arrives at her hotel room at 3 o'clock in the morning and the lights are on, she knows it's not the way she left it. Cautiously, she unlocks the door, taking her gun out of her waistband. She pushes the door open and peeks through the crack.

There's a man sitting on her bed.

She gulps noiselessly, wondering if she has the energy to deal with a threat tonight. Taking a second look, she notices that he's reading a magazine.

_National Geographic_, to be specific.

He looks up, does a double take, and leaps from his seat.

"Sarah!" he says amiably, walking toward the door. "It's just me. Adam. Remember me?"

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, Sarah opens the door all the way.

"We trained together! Don't tell me you've forgotten me already?" he pouts.

Of course she remembers. And she can't help but smile. If the CIA had such a thing as the class clown, Adam would have been it. She returns her gun to its keeping place.

"How could I forget you?" she asks sweetly. "The question is: what are you doing here?"

He swallows nervously. He wasn't the greatest at hiding his emotions. She always figured he'd opt to become an analyst instead of a field agent. "Yes, right. Well –"

"He's here to replace you, Agent Walker."

She turns around to come face-to-face with none other than Director Graham. "Excuse me?" she seethes.

Hands coolly in his pockets, he takes a step toward her, looking the tiniest bit menacing to her fatigued mind. "You, specifically your feelings for your asset, have become a danger to your team."

"I wasn't aware you could make that decision without first consulting me." She's spitballing here, looking for a legality to latch onto.

He laughs. "I'm the director of the CIA. I can do whatever I damn well please." His expression becomes serious. "And since I don't want Major Casey to die on our watch, I'm benching you." As if guessing her thoughts, he adds, "Indefinitely."

She glances down at her sneakers. "What am I supposed to do until my next mission?"

"You'll come back to Washington with me tonight, and tomorrow you'll see the agency therapist. Depending on his analysis, I'm giving you six weeks off to recover. That time, and this is nonnegotiable, you'll spend back home with your family."

It could be worse, actually. It could be a lot worse. A part of her she thought she'd buried is immensely glad that he's sending her home, but the rest of her heart can only think about the possibility of never seeing Chuck again. Then she recalls something he said.

"Wait. _Tonight_?"

Graham nods, his eyes icy. "Waverly here will help you pack. One bag. The rest will be picked up by agency workers within the week."

She stares at her boss, but as he's gone through none of what she has tonight, his willpower is much stronger. She relents, going to her closet and grabbing a duffel, and Adam follows her awkwardly. Graham, muttering something about his tea being cold, retreats to the kitchen.

As she hands him a few folded-up shirts, Adam's gaze flickers over to her. She's prepared to ignore it, but he seems uncomfortable with the silence. Then she remembers that he always was a nervous talker.

"I've heard great things about your team, you know," he says quietly enough so Graham won't hear.

"Really?" she asks just as quietly, not taking her eyes from her work.

"Well, they were whispers, really. No particulars." He smiles, but the smile is strained. "I'm excited to have an opportunity to work with such a fantastic team. I'm just sorry that it has to happen like this."

She sighs and continues folding clothes. "That makes two of us."

He frowns, but is quiet, putting her clothes gently into the duffel bag. After a minute, he opens his mouth. He quickly closes it, opens it, and closes it again.

She quirks a half-smile, amused despite the situation. "If you have something to say, Adam, just say it."

"I was just, well, I was only wondering if you had any advice."

She looks over at him.

"I mean, on working with your team," he clarifies.

She bites her lip, stopping in the middle of folding a shirt. She stares at the shirt. Ellie had helped her pick it out specifically for a "date" with Chuck. He had loved it, of course. She smiles sadly at the memory.

"Don't push him," she advises. "He doesn't follow orders for orders' sake. And forget what you've learned about not forming attachments. If you befriend him, actually earn his trust, he'll be a greater benefit to the team than if you simply try to make him do what you say."

Adam heaves a sigh and nods like he's trying to convince himself. "Okay. Okay, I can do that."

She puts a hand on his shoulder. "Of course you can. Just give it some time."

She moves to the dresses and starts collecting a few pieces of jewelry of which she's particularly fond. Adam sits on the bed, bouncing a bit to test the mattress. He fiddles with his forgotten magazine.

He clears his throat before asking, "Do you want me to give him something for you? A message? A note?"

She pauses, turning her head slightly. Discouraged with his unsuccessful attempt to get through to her, he looks at his feet.

Sarah closes her eyes. What can she say? What can she say to him through another man who has no knowledge of their relationship?

"I'm sorry I don't have the courage to fight this," she whispers.

Adam picks his head up, suddenly attentive.

She shakes her head. "I'm not the person he thought I could be. And I'll regret that every day of my life."

He stands up. "What about down the road? Surely you'll have a chance to reconnect." His voice is low, but passionate.

Smiling unhappily, Sarah turns to face him. "I can't think about that right now," she admits. "I need to take this one day at a time."

He nods but is clearly not happy with what she's saying. Impulsively, she wraps him in a tight hug.

"You always were a good guy," she says. "Take care of him for me."

He shuffles his feet nervously as she backs away. "You know I will," he swears. He looks up at her seriously. "But promise me to take care of yourself?"

She turns back to the dresser, grabs the necklaces and earrings she'd laid out, and collects them in a jewelry bag.

"Sarah," he says emphatically, "promise me."

She turns to him, tears gleaming in her eyes. "I promise," she agrees shakily.

He smiles kindly. "Okay. Thank you. Now do you have a heavy coat? It's pretty cold in Washington this time of year."

* * *

At 5:30 A.M. PST, Chuck Bartowski lies in his bed staring at the ceiling, one arm behind his head. He knows sleep won't come tonight, and he suspects that it won't come easily in the forthcoming nights either. Ellie's disappointed in him, Casey's in the hospital, and Sarah . . .

He sighs.

_Sarah_.

He should know by now to not press her about their relationship. If he can only learn to be patient, perhaps she'll see his worth on her own.

With a yawn, he decides to take her out to breakfast tomorrow to apologize. Then they can go visit Casey to see how he's doing. Bring him some pancakes. He'll like that.

Chuck turns on his side, pulling the covers tighter around him. He thinks of Sarah as he falls asleep, and the last thought in his mind is how he needs to fix this.

* * *

At 7:30 A.M. CST, Director Graham's private CIA jet, carrying two pilots and two passengers, flies over the flatlands of Kansas. The fields are barren this early in February, and the sight merely serves to heighten Sarah Walker's depression. Sitting with her bare feet curled underneath her, she glances toward the front of the jet. Her boss is sleeping soundly, even snoring, apparently without a care in the world.

Her eyes darken. At this moment, she can truthfully say that she hates him.

But as much as she does, there's a small part of her that still blames herself, blames her own emotional cowardice.

She should be with him.

She knows this is her fault, but she can see no way out. The only thing she can see is Chuck's miserable face when he wakes up and realizes she's gone.

* * *

Valentine's Day.

Ellie and Devon are out of town on a romantic getaway, so he has the apartment to himself. Chuck sits dejectedly on the couch, drowning in memories. A photo album lies on the coffee table, open to a page with pictures from Christmas. The reminders of how central Sarah was to his life are painful.

It's been a week, and he hasn't heard a word. Even Casey, recovering well from his gunshot, doesn't know anything. The new guy, Adam, is awkward and nervous and almost as bumbling as he is. The message he had from Sarah wasn't informative at all.

It was so vague that he's starting to lose hope of ever seeing her again.

Chuck stares at a picture of him and Sarah next to the Christmas tree. She has her arms wrapped around his waist, and a smile lights up her face. He likes to believe that, no matter what her CIA training led him to think, she was truly happy with him. And the proof's right here in front of him.

He thinks it might hurt less if she never loved him.

For the first time since his mom left, Chuck lets tears escape his eyes.

* * *

On February 14, 2009, a cab pulls up to 730 East Crawford Street, White Sulphur Springs, Montana in the middle of a snowfall, and, for the first time in seven years, Jennifer Lisa Watley goes home.


End file.
